all's fair in love and war
by malfoyforever
Summary: Go ahead, make my day. -Trio Era drabbles, of the pairings that made the Next Generation, OC or canon-  ON HIATUS.
1. Draco & Pansy

**Draco & Pansy **

**(Megara) **

Pansy watched Draco sleep for a long moment before turning on the lights (_he didn't even stir_) and beginning to hastily scribble a note for him and the baby.

He was more man than boy now, she thought, and laughed – obviously, he was as overage as she was – his features were well-drawn and aristocratic. His eyelids fluttered as his chest fell and rose evenly; Draco sighed in his sleep. His long, elegant hands were curled in fists as he slept on his right side, his blond hair (usually so well-combed) rumpled by sleep.

She wouldn't pretend; she would miss him. She'd miss him very much, and even the baby, probably – but there were things to be done. She was too young for this life; eighteen was far too young for raising a child, especially after the war. Pansy had never been good with problems; all her life, she had been taught to run from them.

So she was doing something _good_ from running, then. She was disassociating herself from her illegitimate child... right?

(_But why, __why__ did it feel as if she were doing something God-awful?_)

Pansy shook that last, dark thought from her mind, reaching out to touch Draco's cheek, rough against the skin of her hand. She laughed grimly; it was hard to think that this was definitely the last time she would touch him. Draco Malfoy, she had learned long ago, didn't _do_ second chances.

She sighed and slipped into her slippers, walking towards the cradle in the corner of the bedroom. She curled her fingers around the railing and took a long look at Megara, her daughter, her child; her child who would never know her mother, never know why, exactly, she did what she did.

_Oh_, Pansy thought as she dressed, _but never mind_.

Draco would badmouth her to the child, anyways.

(_And it was __entirely__ her fault_.)


	2. Percy & Audrey

**Percy & Audrey **

**(Molly, Lucy) **

If there was one thing that Percy was scared of, it was _funerals_.

He hated their grieving, heavy atmosphere. He hated when his family cried all around him, and when he somehow felt compelled to stay strong. He hated it, when he would have to watch his mother and sister break down in tears, and the fact that he couldn't comfort them.

Percy Weasley still didn't know why he came to Penelope Clearwater's funeral.

They had lost touch after their breakup; all he knew of her was that she had rebelled against the Death-Eater-occupied Ministry and had been fled (luckily) before any of the Death Eaters could catch her. She had stayed at a friend's for the next few months; when the friend in question got a notice of the battle at Hogwarts, Penelope had followed.

It was there where she had died, killed by a stray Killing Curse.

He ought to have choked up at that; he ought to have shaken with anger; but now, Percy could only feel numb.

In conclusion: _nothing_.

He showed up in his best dark dress robes, over-used in the past few weeks. He shook hands with the crying Mr and Mrs Clearwater; he mumbled condolences to Penny's brother and sister; he sat rigid and impassive throughout the entire service.

The announcement of the viewing was too much for him; he knew that he would break down if he saw Penelope's lifeless, unmarked body. He did not make eye contact; he stood up, reddened, and ran, ran, ran to the front of the building. When he got to the steps, he panted, his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath.

"You must be cold," said a voice, and Percy looked up to see a young woman staring at him, his coat in hand. "You forgot this on your chair when you, er.. left."

He cleared his throat, adjusted his tie, and tried to look dignified. "I'm very much fine, thank you," he reassured her, the color of his cheeks showing his freckles, betraying him. His blue eyes darted from her to the people gathered around the coffin; his shoulders sagged with relief. No one was looking for him.

She had missed nothing and raised an eyebrow. "Really? Then why are you shivering?"

"I have a... cold?" Percy offered awkwardly, shrugging.

She looked at him up and down. "Hey, you're a wizard."

"You're not a M- Wait, how do you know that?"

She shrugged. "Your clothes? Mum's one, herself."

"So you're a witch," Percy concluded, folding his arms and regarding her carefully for the first time. She was tall, he supposed, with long auburn hair; her skin was tanned and her blue eyes were so dark they could have passed for purple.

"We-ell... Not exactly," she smiled grimly. "I'm a Squib."

He looked down. "Sorry," he muttered.

"Oh, there's no need to feel sorry for me," she said with a smile, tilting her head. "If you'd never had magic, you wouldn't miss it, either."

"True," Percy conceded with a nod and a small smile. He stuck out a hand. "Percy Weasley."

Understanding spread through her face as she took it and shook. "Ah. I know you. You're the one who dated Penny for a year or so, aren't you?"

"Yes," he studied her. "Penny was your friend?"

She laughed, though it sounded a bit forced. "Friend? Well, I suppose it comes with it..."

"What do you mean?" Percy frowned. "You still didn't tell me your name."

"Oh, it's Audrey," a small smile tugged at the corner of her lips, half grim, half teasing. "Audrey Clearwater. Penny was my older sister."


	3. Terry & Padma

**Terry & Padma **

**(Ester, Alan) **

_Dear Padma, _

_You want to go with me- _

Terry frowned as he re-read and crumpled the parchment paper, throwing it into the wastebasket bin. Michael, who was lounging on one of the many armchairs of the Ravenclaw common room, gave him a knowing smirk and jerked his thumb in the direction of Anthony – Anthony and Su were snogging on the carpet, near the fire. Terry glared and picked up another piece of parchment paper, chewing on his quill (gross, he knew) while he thought.

Well, "Dear Padma" certainly wouldn't do. It was too... _chivalrous_. Terry Boot did not _do_ chivalrous. He might have been stubborn as a mule, reckless, and sometimes, as Anthony and Michael pointed out, stupid for a Ravenclaw, but he would leave the chivalry and all that jazz to those Gryffindors.

And "You want to go with me" wasn't subtle enough. Terry thought that it was fine (why be elusive, anyway? A date was a date, no matter how you phrased it), but according to _Twelve Fail-Safe Ways to Charm Witches_, one needed to be subtle. Subtle, as to "not scare the poor girl off".

Terry snorted. _As if she'd be scared by him_, he thought. Padma was one of the bravest girls he knew. His brown eyes were on her as he thought that – naturally. She was hunched over her Potions essay, a frown on her face, chewing her lip. Her hand wandered idly over her hair and she tucked a black lock behind an ear. "Sugar Mouse, Padma?" Morag MacDougal, her best friend, asked. "They always help best for inspiration, I find."

Padma looked up and smiled. "Stupid Slughorn," she muttered. "Seems he's no better than Snape."

Morag patted her friend's arm. "Let's not be hard on the old walrus," she said evenly, playing with her thick dirty blonde braid. "Maybe he'll retire next year. Defence teachers never last more than a year, they say – Snape'll probably go back to Potions or something."

"Leaving Slughorn as Defence Professor?" Padma snorted. "I don't think so, Mor."

Terry concentrated on his parchment paper again. What could he write, instead of plain old "Go out with me?" Stupid girls with their bloody precision and damn demands, he fumed. He turned to Kevin Entwhistle, a roommate that he didn't know too well. Kevin was of the standard "nerd" format: big glasses, not social, exceedingly bright, a bit "out there".

"Hey, old Kev," he said, "got any advice for me?"

Kevin looked up at him and blinked. "What advice?" he asked. "Charms? Transfiguration? Defence? Pot-"

Terry shook his head. "_Girl_ advice," he whispered, so Padma and Morag wouldn't hear and laugh at him. "Got any, old chap?"

"I took a girl on a date once," Kevin said in usual absentminded voice. "Hogsmeade. She was this Hufflepuff..."

"Yeah?" Terry was thinking that he must be really desperate to seek help from Kevin Entwhistle, of all people. "What happened?"

Kevin blinked, blushing. "She ended up hexing me."

_O-kay..._ "That's... interesting, Kevin. Listen, though. How did you ask her out?"

"Oh, she came up to me for help," Kevin said. "I helped her... and I said, 'Are you free on Saturday? We could work on more in Hogsmeade, if you'd like.' She gladly accepted – and here I am, now, sinfully single... And my left toe will never be the same."

Terry sighed and slapped his forehead. "Thank you," he mumbled, and turned back to his parchment.

Well, that hadn't helped. And since Michael and Anthony were no help at all, he decided to just take a chance. Who cared about Padma's reaction, anyway? It wasn't as if he _fancied_ her... She was merely a girl in his year he hung out with and liked.

And this was merely a dare from his best mates, anyway.

_Padma, _

_Do you want to go to Madam Puddifoot's with me? I'll buy you a Butterbeer, if you'd like. _

_-T _

Terry smiled at his completed letter and crumpled it. Throwing it across the table to Padma, he unfolded yesterday's _Daily Prophet_ and pretended to read it, when he was really observing her reaction over the paper. It wouldn't do well to have him looking, of course.

Padma scowled at the paper. Deciding against going round the common room asking who the bloody hell had hit her, she elbowed Morag and held up the crumpled paper accusingly under her friend's nose, "Do you know anything about this?"

Morag snatched the paper from Padma and unfolded it, smoothing it to squint at the writing. "Padma," she read loudly enough for the rest of the common room to hear, giggling, "Do you want to go to Madam Puddifoot's with me? I'll buy you a Butterbeer, if you'd like. T."

Terry's face was beet red behind the newspaper. He resisted the urge to hex Morag MacDougal difficultly. That girl seriously needed to be taught a lesson. With her spite, he thought, she could have made a fine Slytherin. Terry wondered idly if it was possible to sue the Sorting Hat.

"Mor!" Padma shrieked, kicking her. Terry noted that she did not look very happy, indeed. "What was _that_ for?"

Morag smirked and tugged at her thick brown braid. "Nothing, really. Anyway-"

"Oh, shut up," she snapped. "Do you know how _embarrassing_ that was?"

"S'not the end of the world, actually," Morag corrected. She searched in her bag and found a spare parchment paper. "Here," she said, handing it to Padma, "Here, you can use this to write your response back... Tell me about the rest in the dorm tonight." She got up and pushed back her chair. "I have to meet Warren at the library. See you."

"_Morag_-" Padma threw up her hands. "Oh, damn."

Most of the other Ravenclaws had long since returned to their previous activities – Ravenclaws were, by nature, exceedingly polite – except for Michael, who was still laughing, Su and Anthony, who were shooting Terry looks, and a group of first years, who watched Padma sigh in exasperation with fascination.

Terry's thoughts were interrupted by Padma slapping down a folded, yellowed paper in front of him. Narrowing her eyes at him, she jutted her chin in the direction of the paper and went back to her seat, ignoring the stares in her direction brought about by the noise of her hand coming down hard on the table's wood.

Swallowing, he unfolded it.

_Terry, _

_I'll think about it. _

_-Padma _

_PS. Did I mention that you really need to refine your method of asking people out? It's horrid. _

Terry smiled at Padma, who pretended to not notice him. He already knew that he had won, though, so he twisted in his seat to look at Michael in the eye and smirked. The other boy crossed his arms and glared; Michael Corner hated admitting defeat.

Michael turned away and told himself there'd always be a next time.

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><p><strong>By the way, thanks to Eentha for reviewing :) <strong>

**Hoping that you like the next of these :)**


	4. Flora & Seamus

**Flora and Seamus **

**(Moira, Patricia, Colin) **

Seamus met Flora Carrow for the first time after the battle, when he'd just finished visiting Lavender in the hospital wing.

He normally wouldn't have noticed her. Flo was a sixth year, at the time; she sat cross-legged on one of the grey benches destined for visitors whose entry wasn't allowed, a thick book in her hands. Her nondescript mousy brown hair was pulled up in a short ponytail, sitting over her shoulder as she read, with her eyes narrowed.

And there it was; a big, fat, traitorous Slytherin badge pinned proudly on her chest.

But there was _something_ about her; something that fascinated him besides her air of snotty confidence attributed to the typical Slytherin. That something prompted him to speak to her; the reasonable part of him was irked at that. It seemed, however, that the (most) of Seamus's rational side had gone with his horrendous seventh year and the gory battle that had marked the end of it.

He approached her and waved his hand in her face. She looked up for a moment with (not-nondescript) brown eyes; they were the color of cinnamon, Seamus thought, or, perhaps, caramel. Then, he wondered why he was looking at a _Slytherin_ girl's (pretty) eyes and channelling _ice cream_ flavours.

Oh, this whole business didn't make much sense, anyway.

"What are _you_ doing here?" he blurted out, because he was a Gryffindor; an _expert_ in the domain of blurting-out-incoherencies.

She looked at him again, eyes narrowed as always, seemingly appraising him. She titled her head and raised her chin, trying to look dignified, Seamus decided. "What do you _think_ I'm doing?" she asked. Typical, _bloody_ Slytherin, never giving out a straight answer and _somehow_ making _her_ flaw a blow to _his_ pride.

He decided to play smug. "You were reading a second ago," he smirked, "but I interrupted you."

"That was," she agreed, "_quite_ rude. Besides that, I may be a Slytherin, but I'm _allowed_ to visit my friends in the hospital wing. The world doesn't belong to you damn Gryffindors, you know."

Seamus frowned. "I never said it did," he said slowly, "but what friends do you have to visit? You're all Death Eaters."

He realised his mistake a second too late – quick as light, Flora pulled out her wand and pointed it at his throat. "What are you saying?" she hissed. "Are you _implying_ that we're all in the same boat, us Slytherins, just because we have the Dark Lord and most of the Death Eaters in our House?"

"Yes," Seamus said recklessly, "_Yes_."

Instead of hexing him, like he had expected, she tucked her wand in her pocket as swiftly as she had taken it out and glared before scooping up her book and stalking away. When she got to the corner, she faced him, hands on hips, jaw set. "Well," she said coolly, "Think about this. You remember Pettigrew? Ask your mate, Potter, about him. I'll let you know that Pettigrew was a Gryffindor, and yet he was the reason that the Dark Lord rose again. So _there_." Smirking at his look of contempt, she continued, "And Merlin? The most famous wizard in history? He was _ours_."

Later that evening, Seamus decided to find out if she'd been bluffing about Merlin, so he went to find Hermione in the Gryffindor common room.

"Hermione," he asked, biting his lip, "was Merlin a Slytherin?"

She pondered this, frowning. At last, she gave a small nod. "He _was_," she said hesitantly, and at that point, she smiled grimly, "but us Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs, and Ravenclaws – we don't like to talk about it. You know," Hermione said thoughtfully, looking at him in the eye, "sometimes, it's easier to think badly of Slytherin than to accept that they had sprouted at least some good people."

Seamus grinned at her, his hands in his pockets. "You're sounding like Luna."

"That was _from _Luna," Hermione smiled at him, "why _do_ you want to know about Merlin, eh?"

He shrugged. "Oh, nothing."

"See?" She turned to Harry and Ron, arms crossed. "Here's _one_ bloke who's interested in other things than Quidditch!"

"Those blokes in question are _very_ rare," Ron muttered, mimicking gagging.

Seamus chuckled, not bothering to correct either of them, as he left the three of them there, rowing in the common room. Some things never changed, he thought.

However, something _big_ changed in his life. From that moment on, Seamus realised that he was intrigued about the girl, who wasn't the typical Slytherin, contrarily to what he had initially thought; she didn't hex him, nor did she summon a great group of lackeys to attack him.

More important: he realised that he wanted to see her again.

So the next day, Seamus Finnigan sought out Flora Carrow, and the next day after that, and so on. She would be the girl he would marry, have children with; she would be the girl with whom he bought an inn in the Irish countryside, danced with at parties, told his secrets to.

She was his (well-deserved) happily ever after, in sorts.

* * *

><p><strong>Flora is not an OC, exactly - she's a movie character with the full name of Flora Carrow in the Slug Club - I think she's only in the sixth movie.<strong>


	5. Daphne & Theodore

**Daphne & Theodore **

**(Alcmene) **

They sat there, on one of the stiff, black leather sofas, once Mnemosyne, her little sister, went to bed.

"Are you OK?" Theodore asked, realising that Daphne was shaking. "Cold?"

She shook her head, not looking at him, but staring off in space. "I feel bad," she muttered.

Even though she didn't specify, they both knew what she meant. Theodore wrapped his arms around her. "Don't," he whispered in his ear. "They were killing, torturing for pure enjoyment. You saw what they were doing to the children, especially the first years."

She pulled away and glared at him with her long-lashed chocolate brown eyes. "_Of course_ I know, Theo," Daphne said quietly. "I was _doing_ it."

"They would have hurt you, otherwise, for being a traitor." Theodore's soft lips brushed her cheek. "It's OK. We can all put this-"

"_For Merlin's sake, Theodore_!" she yelled at him. "No, we can't put this all behind us, and you _know_ it." She forced him to meet her gaze. "Theo," she said, more softly, "we _knew_ some of the people on the other side – like your _father_! What if we had had to fight him? What if you had to fight your godfather? Or-"

He broke her tirade with a kiss, pulling her close. "Shut up," he said in a tone that made Daphne laugh suddenly; it reminded her of the days when they were still innocent fifth years, discussing the oh-so-insane Harry Potter that the media made him out to be. He looked at her with his brown eyes. "First of all, we know what they were doing was wrong. It was _wrong_, Daphne. That trumps fighting anyone we know. Secondly, my father wouldn't fight me, not really; I'm still his heir. Thirdly, my godfather was in the Shrieking Shack for most of the battle, so he's safe, there."

Theodore stared at her again. "That rests your conscience?" he asked innocently.

She rolled her eyes and slapped him.

"I take that as a 'yes'," Theodore said cheekily. "Now. Cocoa?"

Daphne frowned at him. "That's just _random_."

"I know." He squeezed her hand and grinned. "But you're still far too cold. Fancy a breaking into the kitchens?"

She rolled her eyes again. "You make even prohibited activity sound appealing," she said, a hint of accusation in her voice, shaking her head. "How is that even _legal_?"

"It's called _charisma_, Daph," Theodore drawled in a drawl worthy of a Malfoy's, offering her his hand. "Shall we go now, Miss Greengrass?"


	6. Dean & Lavender

**Dean & Lavender **

**(Jed, Darcy, Lena) **

"I'm pregnant."

The words tumbled out of her mouth quickly, uncertainly; who knew what Dean would do? Men were utterly, utterly unpredictable, Lavender had learnt long ago; who said her husband wouldn't run at the announcement of the pregnancy of his almost-werewolf wife?

(Well, in a different universe where her name would be Len or Leon or Liam, where she would be the man instead of the woman, Lavender mused, she would run as well. Only a knight or a soldier or someone equally brave and chivalrous wouldn't.)

But when she finally got the courage to look up at Dean (some Gryffindor she was), there was no trace of future plans of running away, she realised, but only pure happiness. He smiled at her, that handsome smile; his lips crashed down onto hers in no time and then left her mouth, descending along the werewolf bites and scratches that made the red-and-white scars on her throat.

She could feel him grinning. "Girl or boy?"

"Too early," Lavender replied, looking up at the man who called her a princess, a beauty, and who, unlike the others, really, really meant it; the man who touched her as if she were made of glass; the man who taught her that beauty was not only on the outside but on the inside, too.

She buried her face in his chest. "But I'll tell you as soon as I find out," she promised.

Dean toyed with a strand of her golden-blonde hair.

"Oh, you'd better," he said with a smile, "but I think it's more than time to owl Parvati with the good news, don't you think, Lav?"


	7. Katie & Oliver

**Katie & Oliver **

**(Janice) **

Oliver snapped finally; he _exploded_, and demanded, through his teeth, that she leave his flat.

She glared, clenching her jaw, and nodded curtly, making sure to break one of his most prized Quidditch trophies in the process. Katie left, slamming the door with all her might that even the clock on the nearest wall threatened to fall.

Their daughter's cries erupted from her bedroom.

Oliver was ashamed of himself to say that he ignored her; he ignored Janice, his little princess, for the first time in his life; he was too tired. He sank to the floor and moaned; when his little girl cried again, louder this time, and nearing hysteria, their anguished sounds mixed into a twisted melody.

The old lady next door was there fast, snoopy as ever; she announced, most rudely, that she had called the policemen on them – whoever they were. Oliver didn't care; he yelled at her, told her it was absolutely not her business, and closed the door. He picked the bottle of gin and uncorked it.

When the police arrived (they turned out to be Auror likenesses, Oliver learned), they comforted the sobbing Janice, and then handcuffed Oliver, who did not refuse. They brought him to the weird Muggle version of an Auror interrogation room; at last, through much questioning, they found out the truth.

Katie was brought in the next day; then, there was a big legal case, ending with Oliver as the primary caretaker of Janice, no matter Katie's vehement protests. She eventually disappeared from their life, marrying some obscure Quidditch player, and only visited once a year, on Janice's birthday.

That day was one of the happiest in Oliver's old life, he thought, as he punched the air with his fist; in his new life, he had friends, friends like Parvati Patil to cheer him up.

Friends, like Parvati Patil, who would become _more_ than friends.


	8. Harry & Ginny

**Ginny & Harry **

**(James, Albus, Lily) **

To the wizarding world, they're _the_ couple with the _perfect_ kids.

The truth? The Potters are _just_ like everyone else. They have hope, fears, bizarre dreams; they have nightmares, fights among them about the littlest things.

They're normal people, who happen to be the heroes of the wizarding world.

(Disappointing, right?)

_Yes_; nowadays, Harry Potter is merely the Head of the Auror Department, rounding up petty criminals who torture animals with Dark spells instead of violent, queer-in-the-head Death Eaters. Ginny, his wife, is merely the mother of three, working as a simple journalist in the sports section of the Daily Prophet.

Their children are just children, who go to school, love and hate, bicker of course; they're James-Albus-Lily, three perfectly ordinary children with second-hand names and an army of cousins, aunts, and uncles, who eat far too much (according to their mum) and are far too noisy (according to their older cousins).

Maybe it's their heroic actions that put them in the spotlight, Ginny and Harry think as they try to watch a movie, ignoring the suspicious banging sounds from the kitchen, their hands brushing against each other, Ginny's head resting on her husband's shoulder. Maybe it's just that, they think, but the paparazzi don't do anything to improve the situation.

They do the best to get used to it, because it's the rest of their life, after all.


End file.
